


To Make Amends

by annejumps



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Barebacking, Bottom!Eames, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionist Fantasy, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Making Up, Misunderstandings, breaking up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 20:44:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Eames doesn't text him after a dangerous job, Arthur makes a rash decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Make Amends

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [anatsuno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anatsuno/pseuds/anatsuno).

Arthur checked his phone again. Still no texts. He hadn’t heard anything from Eames in five days, and he estimated the job must be over by now. Eames wouldn’t even tell him in what country it took place; he had said it was too dangerous for anyone to know even that. Arthur, of course, had done everything he could to try and pinpoint the location; but Eames was clever, too, and Arthur hadn’t been able to determine anything conclusively.

Arthur remembered insisting “Text me when it’s done” as he had looked needlessly through his spreadsheets on his laptop and watched Eames pack out of the corner of his eye. He’d been trying to look and feel busy. Otherwise he’d have been at loose ends, fretting, biting his nails. Trying to avoid examining why he was so agitated. Eames had taken plenty of dangerous jobs in his life, before and after they’d gotten together.

Eames shrugged, agreed to text, and went back to gathering all of his socks.

He said the job would take three days, and then he’d be out, quick as he could. Arthur knew the team was small and that they’d all be hightailing it as soon as it was over. This being the end of the fifth day with nothing from Eames, he felt he was entitled to worry.

A full week after that, twelve days after the job should have been over, and he was almost apoplectic.

He called a number of people who might know where Eames was -- the idea that they might know and not him rankled, but he called anyway. No one knew.

Another few days passed. Arthur went to his secondary call list, and got no leads. Maybe, he thought, Eames was in hiding and had to lay low, had tossed his phone. Maybe he was huddled somewhere, apologetic, thinking of how he needed to text Arthur but couldn’t.

Maybe he was in danger.

Maybe he was dead.

Arthur was grimly brooding on how he would locate Eames’ body and how best to alert his family when he was snapped from his thoughts by the text alert sound. The number was unknown.

_what’s that brand of woollen socks you like so much? -e_

Arthur stared, and read the message over three times. He set the phone down and walked to the window, staring out at the skyline for a few moments before going back to his phone, and typing out a reply.

_Are you serious?_

_thought i’d pick some up for you_

Arthur stared up at the ceiling. _I don’t need any socks_ , he finally replied.

_ta, darling, see you tuesday_

Gobsmacked, Arthur didn’t reply.

Sure enough, on Tuesday, Eames knocked at the door of his long-term rental, a bag in hand. “I’ve missed you,” he said, smiling, as Arthur opened the door. With a frown, Arthur ushered him in.

“Missed me enough to text me like I asked you to after the job was done?”

Setting down his bag, Eames looked up in surprise. “Mm, I did forget to do that, didn’t I,” he mused.

“Yeah. Yeah, Eames, you forgot to text me.” Arthur folded his arms.

“Well, cheer up, darling, I’m fine, job went off slightly better than expected,” Eames said with a shrug, standing up fully. He sounded surprised. “I didn’t think you were worried.”

“Eames, I didn’t hear from you for two weeks. I couldn’t find anyone who knew where you were.” _I thought you were dead._ “And then you text me about socks?”

“It was just an oversight. All’s well now, eh?” Eames walked toward him, then stopped when Arthur didn’t come closer or unfold his arms for an embrace.

It hit Arthur anew then that he could very well have lost Eames, and all he could think about was imagining himself trying to remember, once it was almost certain he was dead, the last words they’d said to each other, the last time he’d seen Eames. And here Eames had just... forgotten to text him. Like Arthur was nothing. He’d have gone to his death barely remembering Arthur’s existence, and Arthur would have been haunted for the rest of his life.

Well. Time to cut his losses if he meant so little to Eames. Arthur had been wrong in thinking they felt the same way, and that was that.

“I don’t think we should see each other anymore,” he said, and watched Eames’ mouth fall open. His own words sounded hollow and strange, spoken aloud. He wanted to take them back, but didn’t add anything.

Eames narrowed his eyes, and started to smile, disbelieving. “You’re having me on.”

Arthur hated it when people thought he was joking when he was dead serious. “I’m not. We obviously have different priorities, and... I don’t think this is going to work.”

Eames’ expression changed to angry and incredulous. “Look. Arthur, I apologize for forgetting to text you, but surely that’s not so much of a problem?”

 _He forgot about me_ , Arthur thought. _Why does he even care that I want to end it?_

Arthur shrugged. “Yeah, well, it is a problem. I think you should leave,” he added. He couldn’t stand to look at Eames any longer if he wasn’t going to have him, if Eames could forget him so easily.

Although Arthur was looking out the window, he could feel Eames staring at him. Abruptly, Eames moved to pick up his bag, and walked briskly to the door. “Goodbye, Arthur,” he said, terse, voice devoid of affection.

Arthur’s stomach ached like he’d had too much coffee and not enough food. The sound of the door closing behind Eames was like a punch to the gut.

Arthur closed his eyes and told himself he’d done the right thing. Eames would be back to forgetting him in no time. The fact that he didn’t hear anything from him after that seemed to corroborate this theory.

They did, however, have a job together a month later. Arthur hadn’t cancelled because he wasn’t the sort of person who cancelled a job just to avoid an... ex. Maybe Eames was, though. Of course, Arthur knew better, and Eames was there when he arrived, sitting at a desk and talking on his phone, the phone he couldn’t be bothered to use to text Arthur and tell him he was alive.

Whoever he was talking to, this wasn’t a business call. Eames was blushing, grinning, whispering, as he fiddled with a pen. He looked up for a moment when Arthur neared him on his way to his workspace, but kept up his conversation, registering no notice of Arthur’s presence. He ended the call well before they were all scheduled to meet on the details of the job, but he didn’t speak to Arthur, instead spending his time going over his notes.

He got up to join the others at the table near the whiteboard, sitting across and slightly down the table from Arthur. He had a hickey. Arthur pressed his lips together tightly and stared down at his notes.

He threw himself into slicing and dicing the plan details as given by the extractor, making time to argue with the architect as needed. Eames occasionally spoke up, sometimes agreeing with Arthur, sometimes not. Arthur didn’t look at him, and barely acknowledged what he was saying. Eames’ tone was polite, indifferent, never warm like Arthur found himself remembering it being at certain choice moments.

They broke for lunch; as Arthur gathered his things, he heard Eames on the phone again. “It’s lunch, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Haven’t got much time, have we?” he murmured, a chuckle in his voice, rich with innuendo. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it count.”

Arthur left first, not wanting to watch Eames go to his lunchtime quickie.

He did, however, come back before Eames did, and had to watch him stroll in, looking flushed and pleased with himself, clothes rumpled slightly. Arthur tried to concentrate on going over his figures, but part of him seethed.

He wondered who Eames had seen, male or female, sometime-coworker or someone he’d met at a bar. He had an easier time of it picturing Eames on top of someone, or maybe being ridden, than he did imagining Eames being fucked. Not that he wanted to imagine any of it, but he’d started to think of his fucking Eames as something that was special. For both of them.

This was not going to be a fun job. He’d been on jobs with people he’d slept with before, but the other person had always seemed to remember that they’d slept together. He’d assumed Eames would forget him, but it hurt to see he was right.

\-------

Eames didn’t see why Arthur was in such a snit. It couldn’t possibly matter to Arthur if he happened to have one or two good friends (attractive friends) here who were more than happy to sleep with him and vice versa.

Arthur had been the one to break things off, after all. And over something very stupid. Really, it was quite an outsize reaction to pout and refuse to look at him. To stew over -- well, in fairness, Eames was stewing as well. A bit. But that was only to be expected. He’d thought he and Arthur had been on the same page.

Evidently, he’d not only been more invested than Arthur, he’d also overestimated the extent of Arthur’s investment.

Eames never enjoyed being made a fool of, but the willing bed partners did cheer him up a bit. He didn’t flaunt the evidence of his dalliances, but he knew how observant Arthur was, and knew that he’d noticed. It was a comfort to know he was upset by them, but it was exasperating as well. He’d expected Arthur to treat him like any other coworker.

He was uninterested in letting anyone else fuck him just yet, however. He did still associate that with Arthur, annoyingly enough. He wondered if Arthur assumed he’d let someone fuck him, though. Perhaps Arthur was greatly irritated at the thought of someone else holding Eames down and fucking him open, making him gasp and beg. Eames couldn’t say he wasn’t sort of viciously pleased at the idea of Arthur brooding over that. He deserved it, after all.

Perhaps Arthur was sleeping with lucky people as well, although frankly his demeanor seemed to suggest otherwise. If he was, or planned to, good for him. Really.

At the end of the day, Eames thought, he would do no jealous brooding. That wasn’t his bag. But in all honesty, he found it very hard to forgive Arthur for the way he’d washed his hands of their relationship. Ended it just like that, when Eames had thought it so full of promise. How foolish he’d been.

\-------

After the Fischer job, Arthur had thought he and Eames were finally on the right track, the same one. The fact that he’d been wrong still disconcerted him. But even the apparent fact of his wrongness was easier to think about than the way Eames had thought so little of him.

Arthur was kind of vain, sure. But he wasn’t the type to demand all of someone’s attention. His ego had certainly been bruised, but it was more than just that. He’d been interested in Eames from the moment they met; before then, actually, considering Eames’ reputation preceded him. He knew the interest was mutual. They’d both enjoyed the gamesmanship that led up to them finally sleeping together, and then again, and again.

What a revelation to find you could enjoy chasing and being chased, enjoy the capture, and promptly enjoy another chase with the same person. No boredom, only more interest and intrigue, and the small miracle of reciprocation.

At least, so Arthur had thought.

He’d thought he’d grown out of this brooding tendency. In this line of work, you quickly learned to avoid personal attachments, especially with those outside of dreamshare. The secrecy, the frequent travel didn’t lend themselves to a life of serious intimate relationships. In Eames, Arthur had thought he’d found the perfect person to understand what his life was like.

The job they were both on went well, other than the tension between them. Eames kept up his lunchtime quickies, but his work was brilliant, as always. When something went wrong, he was always able to salvage it.

Their relationship apparently was an exception.

\-------

Eames missed Arthur, he truly did. But he had no intention of approaching him first, let alone apologizing. For one, he’d already apologized for forgetting about the bloody text; it was Arthur who’d then decided they needed to break up, after all. Arthur should be apologizing to him for being an overreacting git.

That didn’t seem likely to happen.

However, he still missed Arthur, who was really a very lovely creature, and well he seemed to know it. His deep voice, his wonderful hands, even his annoying tendency to fidget. It wasn’t just the sex; he missed talking to Arthur, being around him.

(The sex, though, was no minor point. Eames had come to really enjoy Arthur fucking him, and now he felt rather deprived, somewhat absurdly in light of the number of people he was sleeping with and how often. But none of them were fucking him, and more importantly, none of them were Arthur.)

The more he thought about it, the more he felt sure he’d never drop Arthur over such a thing. He’d give Arthur chances upon chances, he was quite sure, short of his committing a serious betrayal. Something involving life or death. Even if Arthur had cheated on him, Eames would have wanted to work on it. But careless forgetfulness on Eames’ part in the aftermath of a stressful job and that was all she wrote as far as Arthur was concerned when it came to him.

\-------

Arthur decided he needed to get back into dating. No sense dwelling on Eames if he didn’t have to.

In a bookstore, he struck up a conversation with a petite redhead who was looking over books on architecture, and before leaving, got her number. He called her two days later, and set up a dinner on Friday. His next job was in New York, and wasn’t for a few weeks.

Melinda was ideal, on paper. She was smart, cute, and funny. They went out again, and later went to the movies. After the movie, she invited him up.

The sex was good. Melinda was sweet. But every time she teased him, he couldn’t help thinking of Eames. Nothing against her, she just... wasn’t Eames.

How inconvenient. Trying to forget Eames just reminded him more of Eames.

\-------

This was another job with Arthur. They were each the best in their respective fields -- it stood to reason that they’d be on the same jobs, for those able to pay. Eames hoped Arthur would act less strangely this time around.

The job was in one of a million Manhattan office buildings -- very convenient for Arthur, Eames thought. Had they been together, he could have stayed with him -- gone out together late, slept in.

One morning, he saw Arthur queuing at the coffee shop on the corner. He was talking to someone next to him, a petite redhead. Lovely girl. She touched his arm; he stood close to her, leaning to speak to her, smiling. When she got her coffee, she waited for him, and they stood talking for a while. Arthur hadn’t noticed Eames, and never did, even after he walked past him to leave, following the girl. Outside the shop, they said their goodbyes, and she tipped her face up for a lingering kiss. Well. He wondered what Arthur told her when she asked what he did for a living.

Arthur wasn’t as out of sorts on this job. He barely had a glance to spare when Eames came in slightly late after lunches. Eames knew he wasn’t ignoring him entirely, though.

His Friday night “date” had to cancel, so Eames went to an Italian place near his hotel for supper, intending to return to his room for some quiet reading -- he was entitled to stay in some nights, after all.

As luck would have it, Arthur and his date were at the same restaurant. Again, Eames went unnoticed. He wasn’t likely to be spotted, but still, he wanted to be quick, and leave soon.

Arthur was gallant, gentlemanly. He smiled at his date, he was polite to the server. He looked gorgeous. It was outrageous.

Eames left as soon as he was able, and went to a nearby bar. He told himself he’d just have one or two.

Somewhat drunk, he went back to his room, and found himself brooding -- exactly what he’d told himself not to do, and didn’t think he would do. It wasn’t that he was jealous of the girl. She seemed perfectly nice, and very attractive (Arthur had good taste). He wasn’t worried that Arthur had found someone better than he, because Arthur hadn’t. It was just that it felt wrong seeing Arthur there with someone else, no matter how nice they might be.

And yet, wrong as it felt seeing someone else with Arthur, Eames being with him seemed to be out of the question. Arthur didn’t want that, and Eames wasn’t about to be with someone who didn’t want to be with him.

Seeing Arthur with a date was just a reminder that he wasn’t very important to Arthur. It would be for the best if he didn’t see Arthur for the near future. Until he was over this... whatever it was.

It was all very tiring. Eames fell asleep reading.

\-------

Melinda was... nice. Yes. Nice. She also deserved better than for Arthur to be constantly thinking of Eames whenever they were together.

He met her for lunch one Saturday, after the job he and Eames had been working on was over. Not wanting to have this discussion in a public place, he asked if they could go to her apartment so he could borrow a book.

He told her that, in the interest of full disclosure, she needed to know that he was still hung up on somebody else. His ex. It wasn’t fair to her, he said. She nodded, looking dismayed. They expressed their various regrets. Arthur felt like shit. But it really was for the best. He shouldn’t have tried dating again in the first place. Until he got over Eames, he didn’t need to be entangled with anyone else. Of course, getting involved with someone else still seemed like the best way to get over Eames.

There was always casual sex.

To an extent, that worked. Arthur did have a lot of energy that needed an outlet. Its usefulness was limited, however. Truth be told, what he really wanted was a lover. Someone who knew him, what he liked. Someone who understood him and cared about his needs as a person. Leaving someone’s apartment and never having to see them again had its appeal (Arthur never took anyone to his apartment, and didn’t always stay the night at anyone else’s), but waking up with someone else in his own bed, someone he trusted.... Arthur wondered when he’d find anyone he trusted as much as Eames. If he ever would.

All that said, it was beyond Arthur to turn down a fun night with an attractive, interesting person. And after all, it wasn’t like Eames was pining for him.

Gradually, he put several months behind him since he’d broken up with Eames. He had a few short-term dating relationships, and more one-night stands. He made it clear enough that he wasn’t looking for anything serious. For the most part, that was as far as the interest went. There were a few people he could see himself getting more serious with, but still, they weren’t Eames.

That, really, was the problem. Seeing Eames didn’t inure him to the understanding that they weren’t together. Months not seeing him didn’t make Arthur forget him.

There was only one thing to do.

Arthur gave himself another two weeks, to finish a job and to get his thoughts in order, make sure this was what he wanted to do. He had to accept the fact that Eames could rebuff him and want nothing more to do with him. At least that, he hoped, would entail closure.

It occurred to him that the number he had for Eames might no longer be the way to reach him, of course. But that was the most obvious place to start. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to delete it from his phone. He’d probably held on to this phone and SIM card far longer than he should have. Well, if this was a dead end, he’d trash it and start over.

As the number dialed, he wondered what time zone Eames was in. He hadn’t kept up with Eames’ whereabouts in some time, and Eames no longer had any need to check in with him, period. He could be anywhere. He could be dead.

 _Don’t think like that_ , he admonished himself, and then a voice said “H’lo?” Guarded and suspicious, but definitely--

“Eames.”

A pause. “Arthur? Why’ve you phoned?” Eames’ voice wasn’t giving much away.

“Wanted to speak to you. To... see if we could meet.” His carefully planned speech seemed to be crumbling. He should have written it down.

“What for?”

“To... talk.”

“I’m on a job right now, Arthur, and I rather think it’s best that we not meet.” Eames sounded distant, officious.

“Right. Right. I’m on a job too.” He wasn’t right now, not yet.

“Perhaps later.”

“All right. Well. I’ll be in touch.”

“All right. Goodbye, Arthur.” The same words he spoke when Arthur told him to leave, only brusque this time. Clearly Arthur had been an unwelcome interruption in Eames’ busy day.

\-------

Eames was frankly shocked that Arthur had phoned him. He wasn’t sure what to think. He didn’t, however, phone him back. Arthur hadn’t apologized on that call, after all. Surely he could apologize over the phone, if he’d wanted to, since this was all so unimportant to him.

Six weeks or so later, Eames had a job in Barcelona. He was several days into it, and on his way back to his room one evening when Arthur stepped into his lift in the lobby, just before the doors closed. Eames felt confusion, then a flash of irritation. He leaned against the mirrored wall of the lift.

“Tracked me down then, have you?” Eames said, folding his arms and looking down at his crossed ankles.

“I did,” Arthur said with a shrug, ignoring the displeasure in Eames’ tone. He folded his arms as well, turning to lean against the wall some feet away. Eames looked up to watch the buttons light up over the lift doors.

“Can’t imagine why you’ve bothered, after all this time,” Eames said, waving a hand dismissively. He could see Arthur’s frown in the mirrored surface. Unfortunately, Arthur was still every bit as gorgeous as Eames remembered. “I did get the message when you told me to leave. And if you had anything important to say, you ought to have mentioned it when you phoned me.”

“I wanted to speak to you in person.”

Eames scoffed. “So you waited six weeks and flew to Barcelona.”

“I felt the time was right.” Now Arthur sounded positively peeved. Good.

“ _You_ felt the time was right.” Oh, would this bloody lift never arrive at his floor?

“I did.” Arthur tilted his chin up, stubborn and arrogant.

“And for what, Arthur? Bloody Christ, let’s have it.”

Arthur raised his voice. “I wanted to talk about what happened.”

“Again, something you couldn’t possibly do over the phone?”

“I knew you were going to be like this,” Arthur muttered, shaking his head.

The lift stopped, and dinged. “Then indeed, why bother finding me, if I’m so very contemptible?” Eames stalked out of the lift and toward his room. Arthur, of course, followed.

“Can we just talk about it--”

“Are you here to rub it in?” Eames asked, incredulous, taking out his room keycard. He opened the door. “You must be, because you haven’t apologized yet. I apologized, Arthur, and you ended it.” He stepped nimbly into his room and slammed the door in Arthur’s stricken face.

\------

 _That went poorly_ , Arthur reflected, lying on his back in his hotel room, several blocks away from Eames’. He’d bungled that. And now he was here in Barcelona, at loose ends.

Arthur had held out out a small, foolish hope that Eames would be happy to see him, might have missed him like Arthur had been missing him. But he’d been wrong about that too. Still, despite it all, it had been good to see Eames. He loved warm climates and he looked sunkissed after a few days here. He still made Arthur weak in the knees, and flustered.

No doubt, Arthur thought, rolling over and looking out the window at the night sky, he was in his room with someone right now. Well, the odds were good, anyway. Maybe someone he’d picked up at the hotel bar. Maybe a colleague. Maybe someone was fucking him. Arthur felt a strange twist of possessiveness that almost made him feel sick with longing. Eames wasn’t and had never been his; people couldn’t truly belong to other people, of course. Eames was his own man, Arthur knew that. He could do whatever he wanted; it wasn’t about that. It was about how Arthur had felt like he belonged with Eames.

Had it just been sexual chemistry? Had he been duped by his dick?

He imagined Eames in bed with the mysterious someone, wanton and eager, purring praise and encouragement. He wanted to get hard at the thought; he wanted to be able to jerk off over it, purge his jealousy and frustration, and then put it all out of his mind and go back home. And forget Eames, at last. Assuming that was even possible.

He imagined himself going down to the hotel bar, having a drink, then two, then three. Getting drunk enough to think that going to see Eames would be a good idea. He’d bang on the door, and Eames would answer, rumpled and flushed. Maybe he’d sent the person home, maybe not. Arthur would storm in, and demand to know -- what?

Exhausted, Arthur fell asleep in his clothes, on top of the comforter.

He woke up to the morning sun’s glare. Getting himself upright at last, he stripped off on his way to the shower. A good dousing with warm spray went a long way toward refreshing him. He dressed, in some close-fitting pants as well as a shirt he knew Eames liked on him, and with his hair slicked back and looking as impeccable as he could, he went to get some coffee and breakfast. He would need all the advantages he could gather if he was going to talk to Eames.

At this hour, Eames was probably not out of bed yet. Neither, of course, would be anyone he had in bed with him. _Tough shit_ , Arthur thought. _They can leave_. It was settled, he was going.

It took Eames a long while to get to his door and unlock and open it. Shirtless, he squinted at Arthur in disbelief through a crack in the door. Arthur raised his brow, and Eames gestured hastily for him to come in.

“Didn’t think to bring any tea, did you?” Eames groused as he shut and locked the door. Arthur shook his head, feeling chagrined. “Having a man at a disadvantage,” Eames muttered, and went to the phone to order up some breakfast -- just tea and a croissant. Nothing for Arthur in his order, but that was fine.

After hanging up, Eames stretched out on the bed. Arthur remained standing. “Sit,” Eames said finally. Arthur sat in the armchair. Eames eyed him. “What are you about, Arthur?”

Arthur rested his elbows on his knees, clasped his hands together, and leaned forward. “Do you even remember why you’re upset with me?”

“I bloody well do,” Eames answered immediately. “You broke up with me merely because I forgot to send you a text.”

Arthur sat back, quiet for a moment. “Forgot to send me, your boyfriend, I assumed I was, a text telling me you were alive.”

“And I apologized!” Eames said. “Arthur, you must know it’s not at all out of the ordinary in our line of work to not hear from someone for ages after a dicey job.”

“I asked you to text me,” Arthur said. He was starting to feel like a broken record. “I was about to decide you were dead. And you’d just forgotten about me, like I was.... Like I was nothing.”

Eames stared at him with an expression Arthur wasn’t sure how to parse.. “Do you think you’re nothing to me?” he finally said. “Do you think you ever have been nothing to me?”

“I don’t know, Eames!” Arthur stood and walked to the window, looking out. “I’m sick of saying it. You forgot about me, that’s fine. That means we’re not... not supposed to be together. It’s fine.”

“Bloody fine, is it? You can just wash your hands of me, like that.” Eames laughed, bitter. “Sounds as though I’m nothing to you, actually.”

That was too much. Arthur spun on his heel. “Yeah, I regularly freak out over the seeming disappearances and presumed deaths of people I don’t care about.”

“For Christ’s sake, Arthur. I was hardly dead.”

“I didn’t know that!”

“You’ve made your point, my God.” Eames smacked the bedding with a spread hand. “But you still haven’t apologized.”

“Apologized for what?” Arthur stood staring at Eames.

“For ending it over something relatively minor!”

“Relativ--”

“Yes, Arthur. Relatively minor. I apologize for giving you the impression that I’d forgotten about you. I couldn’t forget about you if I tried. I did try.” A knock sounded at the door, and Eames pointed to it. Frowning, Arthur went to answer, and took in the breakfast tray with a word of thanks to the employee. Without a word to Eames, he brought him his tea. “Anyway,” Eames said, after taking a long sip, “I would never, ever have dropped you like that.”

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Arthur set the tray on the bed and went back to his armchair. He swallowed hard. Eames continued. “Think about it, imagine our positions reversed. Would you think it fair if I did what you did?”

“I already told you--”

“Just think about it.” Eames took a longer sip, and started on his croissant. “Won’t do you much good now, but think about it. I would have wanted to work on it with you, even if you’d cheated. But it seems you were much less invested, and that’s that, I suppose.”

“If I cheated--”

“Of course, now, since we’re not involved, we can’t possibly cheat on each other. Therefore, we can each sleep with other people without guilt. I have been, I assume you have been as well.” Eames shrugged. “And with that I think I’ve said all I mean to say, and you can certainly feel free to go on your way. Unless you’ve something else to add, such as an apology.”

\-------

Eames left Arthur seemingly gobsmacked, half out of the armchair as Eames finished his croissant and stood, stripping off his boxers on the way to the shower. “You can show yourself out,” he added, but in the next moment, Arthur was in front of him, barring his way. He smelled good and looked even better. Eames tried to ignore that, but he was naked, after all.

“Eames, no,” Arthur said, desperately serious, eyes wide. “I’m not leaving.”

Eames snorted. “It’s fine, Arthur. You can go. Pick someone up tonight. I’ll be doing the same. I have been.”

Arthur pressed a hand to his chest. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Eames pressed forward, pushing Arthur back just slightly. “Do move out of my way, Arthur.”

“Stop acting like this!”

“Stop acting like what, Arthur? I’m trying to move on with my life. I can’t imagine what further points you could possibly make.”

“Eames, please.”

“I’m going to do us both a favor and not ask ‘Please what.’ We were wrong in thinking this was a relationship that could work. It happens all the time. I expect you to be gone when I’m done showering.” He pushed past Arthur to the bathroom, and started the water.

When he emerged, he was a bit surprised to see Arthur still there, sitting on his bed, fully dressed. Arthur stood and walked toward him, silent, cupped his face in his hands, and kissed him.

“Oh, that’s it, then,” Eames managed to say, “it’s fixed now?” But he was a bit breathless. He hadn’t kissed Arthur in ages.

Arthur shook his head. “No, it’s not fixed.”

“Are you suggesting we shag, then, for old time’s sake, as a last hurrah? I can’t say I’m opposed to it, but it might not be the best idea.” Eames went to his suitcase to find some underwear.

“I don’t want there to be any ‘last hurrahs.’”

“Well, we all want a lot of things, don’t we?” Eames dropped the towel around his waist to the floor, and went to put on the underwear. Arthur was, in the next moment, taking the garment from him, and tossing it aside.

“You know what, yeah. For old time’s sake. I want to fuck you--” Eames’ cock twitched with interest, “--and then I’ll go, and if that’s what you really want, I won’t contact you again.”

“I make out like a bandit on this deal, don’t I?” Eames remarked. “You won’t be contacting me again, Arthur. You ended it, you can’t just take it back by fucking it out of me.”

“I’m not--”

“Let’s look at each other like random shags, hey? One-night stands, won’t have to see each other again.” Eames stood naked with his hands on his hips. “No knowledge of the fucking stupid reasons one of us might have for breaking up with the other.”

Arthur scrubbed at his face, paused, and started unbuttoning his shirt in vicious, fast little movements, almost fumbling in his frustration. Eames watched. It had been too long since he’d seen Arthur naked, no matter what a prat he might be.

The sound of Arthur unbuckling his belt went a long way in getting him hard, unsurprisingly. Teeth gritted, Arthur said as he shed his shirt and trousers, once he’d toed his shoes off, “Then I guess I’ll pretend I don’t know how incredibly irritating and stubborn you are.”

“Oh, likewise, I’m sure.” Arthur had those little black boxer-briefs on he sometimes wore (when he did wear underwear), and what was probably a pair of those same damned woollen socks Eames had contacted him about. He was mouthwatering.

“I’ll also pretend,” Arthur continued, “that I have no idea how much you like it when I fuck you.” He peeled off his socks and got out of his little boxer-briefs with just the right amount of show, like the damned underwear model he could very well be in another life. At the sight of his cock Eames forgot what they were so upset about. Then he remembered.

“I’ll pretend I don’t know you’re an insufferable prat,” Eames said, crowding Arthur backward onto the bed, bridging himself over him. Arthur grappled with him and with some struggle reversed their positions. “I let you do that,” Eames told him.

For that, Arthur flipped him onto his stomach, an actual struggle this time, at least at first. Arthur held one of Eames’ arms behind his back.

“I want to fuck you into the mattress,” Arthur ground out.

“Ha,” Eames said, muffled, trying not to press his cock into the bed. “What a tiresome cliché.”

“Where’s your lube?” Arthur demanded.

“Bedside table drawer,” Eames answered immediately. Arthur stretched to reach it. “Hadn’t you ought to use a condom?” Eames added, rather meanly; they’d stopped using condoms a few weeks into their erstwhile relationship. “I don’t know where you’ve been.”

“I’ve been using them,” Arthur growled.

“As have I, of course.” Eames listened to Arthur uncapping the lube. Truth be told, he was quite a fan of Arthur pinning him down and fucking him, but it wouldn’t do to let on just yet. Not that Arthur couldn’t guess, but still.

“I don’t want to wear one now. I want my come inside you,” Arthur said, and Eames shrugged as best he could, as if he didn’t care.

“Bit unusual for a one-night stand, but go on, then. Won’t you even kiss me before you fuck me? Hardly a considerate partner, are you?”

Arthur capped the lube, threw it on the bed, and turned Eames over, knocking a pillow to the floor in the process. He kissed him, brutal and merciless and perfect. Eames moaned into the kiss and was then fleetingly embarrassed of moaning, and then dismissed it. No one could blame him, after all.

Before he could stop himself, he wrapped his arms around Arthur, luxuriating in the feel of that smooth, warm skin once again. Arthur made a little sound at the way Eames slid his hands down his back, and the kiss changed into something else, something searching. Ah, not so fast. He bit gently at Arthur’s lip in a bit of defiance.

Arthur gave his nipple a very firm pinch in return. Eames detached himself from the kiss with some difficulty. “You prick,” he said, delighted.

Arthur laughed, and Eames’ stomach fluttered, damn it all. “Do that again,” Eames said.

Arthur shook his head, smug. How easy it was to fall back into familiar patterns and behaviors. “I’m pretending I don’t know how bossy you are,” he said.

“Bossy? I’m bossy? You’re the bossiest little shit I ever did see.” Eames couldn’t stop grinning.

“You’re this close to ordering me to fuck you.”

“Like hell I am.”

“I bet you’re dying to be fucked. I haven’t fucked you in months.” He was right, but still. Nevermind that he’d forgotten the game, as well.

“And whose fault is that?”

Arthur looked irritated. “It’s not anyone’s fault.”

Eames struggled to sit up. “That reminds me, you haven’t apologized,” he said.

Arthur sat on his heels and rested his hands on his thighs. “So much for the one-night stand pretense,” he said after a moment.

“If you feel so badly about all this, why won’t you just apologize? Are you actually sorry?”

Arthur looked at him, considering, saying nothing. That was too long a silence for Eames. “Right,” Eames said, getting up from the bed, meaning to go put on some clothes and kick Arthur out. Arthur grabbed his arm and stopped his momentum, and Eames turned to him. Standing, Arthur pulled him close, and kissed him. It was a slow, searching kiss.

Arthur didn’t get to do that. Anger, Eames could do. Arthur’s hands slid down his back, gentle and proprietary. Eames was just about to push him back, as much as he craved that touch, when Arthur broke the kiss to murmur “I’m sorry, Eames” against his jaw.

“Sorry for what?” Eames said immediately.

“Sorry for being rash,” Arthur said, kissing his neck.

“Sorry for being a prat?”

“Sorry for being a prat.” Arthur’s hands rested on his lower back.

“Sorry for taking so bloody long to apologize?”

“That too.” Arthur nuzzled him and he couldn’t hide his shiver.

“You still going to fuck me?” Eames said lightly, hands cupping Arthur’s shoulders.

“If you still want me to.”

“Of course I do. We could already be if you hadn’t taken so long.”

“Mmm.” Arthur kissed him, smiling. “I missed you.”

Some of Eames’ resolve to be angry at Arthur melted away. “I might have missed you as well. Going to, as you put it, ‘fuck me into the mattress’?”

Arthur raised his brows. “Got anything else you need to do today?” he teased.

“I suppose I can cancel my lunch plans.” He didn’t actually have any; today was meant to be a break in the job, and his good friend in Barcelona was out of town. But Eames knew that mentioning lunchtime quickies would get Arthur’s goat, and he wasn’t above that.

“Cancel them,” Arthur growled, hands moving to squeeze his arsecheeks. “You’re going to be otherwise occupied.”

Eames groaned. “I’ll ignore that terrible pun and let you fuck me anyway.” He extricated himself from Arthur’s hold and got on the bed, face down, up on his elbows a bit. He looked at Arthur over his shoulder, and grinned, saucy. “Come on, then.” He wriggled his arse, for good measure.

Arthur was on him in a moment. Weight pressing down on Eames, he reached for the lube with one hand and slicked his fingers, a few of which Eames found inside himself in short order. Eames gasped. “You all right?” Arthur murmured.

“Good, keep going.”

Arthur kissed his back and shoulders as he worked his fingers in and out, a rhythm that had Eames panting, unable to keep still. “Please, please,” he found himself saying.

“Please what, baby, what do you want,” Arthur murmured, low, voice reverberating through Eames’ back and chest.

Eames stuttered out a surprised laugh; Arthur never called him that, but it sent an insistent pulsing through his cock, regardless. “Don’t make me wait any longer, Arthur.”

“All right, all right,” Arthur said. He pulled his fingers out, and after a moment, started to ease his cock in.

“Careful, careful,” Eames said, tensing. Arthur went still. “Been a while,” Eames explained.

“I was going slow,” Arthur protested, good-natured, a smile in his voice. He shifted his hips as Eames relaxed, and sank in, letting out a sigh.

“Come on, then,” Eames said.

Arthur rolled his hips, drew out and then pressed back in. It was Eames’ turn to sigh. Then Arthur nipped his upper back, and Eames gasped, spreading his thighs further apart as Arthur pressed his weight down more onto him.

“Oh, yes, that’s good,” Eames praised, closing his eyes as Arthur went deep again. He grunted every time Arthur did it, and Arthur kept mouthing at his back and neck, his breath and skin hot. “Oh, _Arthur_ ,” he purred.

\-------

Eames was warm and solid beneath him, tasting faintly like soap and sweat, and suddenly Arthur wanted to see him, to kiss him. Not that he didn’t enjoy pinning Eames beneath him and fucking into him.... “Turn over,” he said, low and urgent.

“What?” Eames stilled.

Arthur drew out and sat on his heels. “Turn over.”

Eames did. He was flushed, slightly clumsy and loose-limbed, but he turned quickly enough, and reached for Arthur, who was in him again in a moment. Eames locked his ankles at the small of Arthur’s back, one hand spreading out over his shoulder, the other cupping the back of his head as he leaned in and kissed him. He felt enveloped by Eames and utterly content. He murmured into the kiss, and Eames replied with a pleased hum.

Eames was moving with him, but he wasn’t fully relaxed. Arthur broke the kiss to murmur, “You good? You’re so tight.”

Blinking up at him, Eames licked his distracting, plush lips, as if nervous. Arthur sometimes forgot how utterly gorgeous Eames was.

“You can laugh at me,” Arthur admitted, slowing down, “but I didn’t like thinking about other people fucking you.”

Eames actually blushed, and laughed. “I couldn’t imagine anyone else doing it. Silly, I know. It’s not that big a deal, but there is a level of trust involved.” He added in a quieter voice, “I don’t think I trust anyone else as much as I trust you.”

This was a tremendous admission, not lost on Arthur. He grinned, and before he could say anything, Eames reached to smack his thigh. “Give it to me good, then. I’ve been deprived for ages, love, it’s cruel to taunt me further by slowing down.”

“Let me apologize for that, too,” Arthur said, with a laugh, and moved piston-quick, drawing gasps from Eames.

“That’s more like it.” Eames shifted, tightening his thighs and drawing his ankles up, arching up to kiss Arthur, wet and dirty. Arthur shifted his weight to press Eames back into the bed, kissing him deeply, and straining to go hard and fast, urged on by the way Eames clutched at him, moaning into his mouth. He wanted to rid himself of all the thoughts that had been roiling through him and just _fuck_ , just react to Eames and make him respond in kind.

Eames certainly seemed to have missed this as much as he did, judging from the sounds in his throat and the way he couldn’t keep still. At the desperate pace they were going, it was hard to hold anything back, and before long Eames got a hand between them and was on the verge of coming, having to stop kissing Arthur to blink up at him, dazed and panting, lips pink and swollen.

Arthur curled his fingers around Eames’ hot hand, squeezing briefly. “C’mon,” he urged, low. “It’s been so long, I want to see you, I want to feel you.”

Eames made a choking sound, rocking his hips up toward Arthur, finally arching his back and coming with a hard shudder. Arthur couldn’t hold off any longer and came, and leaned in to kiss him as they caught their breaths. He reveled in the feel of skin on skin, letting himself settle onto Eames, who released his cock to wrap both arms around him. He nuzzled Eames’ neck.

“That was fast,” Eames said after a moment, sounding wrecked.

“Shut up. I missed you, and you came first,” Arthur said, muffled.

“Wasn’t complaining, love, merely stating a fact.”

“I’ll make it up to you later.”

“So there will be a later.” Arthur had the feeling he was talking about more than whether they both had the afternoon free.

Arthur shifted, making to sit up. Eames released him, and he withdrew. He stretched out alongside Eames, and looked at him. “Are you asking if we’re back together?”

Eames shrugged. “I suppose. Are we?”

“I’d like us to be,” Arthur admitted, frank. “If you’re not good with that, though, that’s okay.”

“Is it really okay?” Eames asked, smiling gently.

“Well, no, but I mean, I’ll deal with it. This has to be mutual.”

“It’s mutual, Arthur. Just... try not to fly off the handle quite so easily.”

“Try to remember to text me and tell me you’re not dead,” Arthur said immediately, raising a brow.

Eames smiled, looking fond. “If I weren’t post-coital I’d give you a good smack for that. Yes, Arthur, I will try to remember. You know,” he sighed, “I really oughtn’t to have left so soon just because you’d told me to go. I should have asked what you were so upset about. Allayed your fears.”

“I wasn’t afraid.”

“Weren’t you?” Eames shifted forward and kissed him gently on the mouth. “You were afraid I’d forgotten you.”

Arthur swallowed. “You did.”

“No, love, I forgot to _text_ you. I was just off an extraordinarily stressful job, my mind was a bit muddled. And I did text you later about those socks. I’ve told you before, it’s impossible for me to forget you. I’m surprised at you, Arthur. I would think it would take more than that to shake your self-confidence.” His tone was gently chiding. Arthur felt his face turn pink.

“It usually does,” he muttered, wry.

“I’ve always known I get under your skin,” Eames murmured, smug. “You needn’t worry. I think the world of you, you know. Even if you are a bit of a prat.”

Arthur stuck out his tongue, and grinned. “The feeling’s mutual.”

\-------

With very little effort, Eames talked Arthur into napping after they’d cleaned up a bit, and later they’d decide what to do for lunch. It was lovely to discuss such mundanities with Arthur again. Even a mild argument over how long they should nap couldn’t wipe the smile from Eames’ face. It did occur to him as Arthur pulled the sheets up over them that this probably meant he did in fact love Arthur. This wasn’t the time to discuss that, however. Months earlier, he’d felt himself falling in love with him, but their sudden breakup had him second-guessing and trying to stem the tide, perhaps to no avail. Falling in love with anyone was a dangerous prospect not to be undertaken lightly, but something in Eames knew he’d happily undertake it again for Arthur. He was, after all, watching him sleep.

Arthur, on his stomach, was snoring lightly. Probably exhausted and jetlagged, poor thing, even though it wasn’t like those things were new to him.

Eames didn’t think he was ready to tell Arthur he loved him. Arthur could very well not be ready to hear it. They needed some weeks to pass before they moved into that territory, to get comfortable with each other again. To forgive themselves for their own rashness. They’d both been silly, and the entire relationship had almost capsized as a result. Perhaps they’d be able to salvage things.

With that thought, Eames drifted off to sleep, conscious just before then of Arthur’s leg wedging gently between his.

He woke to light kisses on his back, left at leisurely intervals. “What is it, love, you hungry?” he asked.

“Mm, I can wait for lunch,” Arthur replied. “I was just thinking.”

Eames turned over. Arthur’s face was flushed with sleep and his hair was a wreck. Eames’ heart gave a little flutter and he sighed inwardly. “Anything I need to be aware of?”

Arthur cupped his jaw and said very seriously, “Just that this won’t be easy, but I’m willing to do it for you.”

Eames smothered a grin. “Thank you, Arthur. I appreciate your efforts. I know I can be very... hard to deal with.”

It took Arthur a moment and then he looked down the bed. He grinned, face turning pinker. “I expected better from you,” he mock-scolded.

Eames pulled a wounded face. “Thought you liked it well enough.” He winked.

“You know what I meant.” Arthur wrapped a hand around him and gave him a squeeze. “I think we should order room service.”

“What, right now?” Eames said, a little breathless.

“Nope.” Arthur licked his lips, looking thoughtful. “I’d say... in an hour.”

“Oh, yes?”

“I said I’d make it up to you, didn’t I?” Arthur rubbed the pad of his thumb over the tip of Eames’ cock, slowly and with just the right pressure.

“That you did,” Eames allowed, thrusting slowly into Arthur’s grip. “But do you really think it will only take you an hour?” It was a struggle to remain cheeky, but somehow he managed.

“Gotta start somewhere,” Arthur replied, leaning in to kiss him. “We’ll have more than an hour. After lunch.”

Arthur, always thinking practically. “Staying in, are we?” Eames gave him a few little biting kisses, and he hummed in answer, giving him a slow, squeezing stroke.

“Have we ever had a day where we just stay in bed?” Arthur asked, ending on a stuttered breath as Eames had the presence of mind to reach into his little boxer-briefs (Arthur tended not to sleep naked; on the bright side, Eames got to get him out of whatever remaining clothes he happened to have on, and partially clothed had its merits as well, depending).

“I don’t think we have. I’m sure I’d remember that. I’m sure you would as well.”

“I’m more remarking on how odd it is that we haven’t yet. So are we going to start by giving each other handjobs and making out?” Arthur was a little breathless now, squirming his hips toward Eames’ grip.

“This was your idea, no?”

“I’m not complaining.”

“Then hush and return to the said ‘making out.’ By the way, dearest, not to offend but I think we’re both a trifle too old for a day of many orgasms.”

Arthur scoffed. “Just for that,” he said between kisses, “I’m going to issue a challenge.”

Eames groaned. “Oh no, what have I done?”

“No, no. What we lack in refractory periods -- and I still think you’re wrong about that, but maybe that’s a challenge for another day -- we make up for in stamina.” Arthur paused to brush his lips over Eames’, making his nerve endings tingle. “First one to come has to call room service _and_ answer the door.”

“Diabolical,” Eames whispered.

Arthur pressed his thumb firmly to the underside of the head of Eames’ cock, rubbed, and started to stroke him in earnest. He looked very pleased with himself, and Eames had to admit this was the perfect pastime for two competitive people. He knew what Arthur liked, though: steady, tight strokes, lots of contact with the head. Arthur knew that it drove Eames mad to have his foreskin played with. They were evenly matched, and kept bringing each other to a fever pitch, against which they each struggled not to come. Neither of them was above chuckling at their efforts to delay. It was good to have Arthur laughing.

After a while, it was time to bring out the big guns and win this. Eames knew he kissed like the devil himself -- soft little licks, gentle bites, or probing, hot, demanding explorations. Arthur was getting lost in it, he could tell -- his hand movements seemed distracted and he was unconsciously shifting his hips, breathing harder. Eames smiled into the kiss, and that got Arthur’s attention. He shifted back, his perfect mouth pink and slick.

“What if when room service comes up, the door’s unlocked and they walk in on me fucking you,” Arthur murmured, voice low and rough. Eames knew with surety that this was not something Arthur would actually do and furthermore it was hardly professional hotel employee behavior, but damned if he wasn’t leaking at the very thought. “Or what if I fuck you and we bang the bed against the wall and you can’t keep quiet, and somebody calls the front desk on us.”

“Not fair,” Eames protested, and bit his lip, trying to think of boring things like Marmite and electric kettles.

“What if they send someone up and they walk in on you begging me to go deeper. What if they stand there and watch you come and listen to the sounds you make.”

Eames closed his eyes and half-tilted his head away; Arthur leaned in to nip at his bottom lip, still stroking him firmly. “They’d be so jealous,” he whispered. “They wouldn’t be able to take their eyes off you. They’d kill to be in my place.”

Eames could see it then, the shocked hotel employee standing stock-still, the flex of Arthur’s arse as he pounded into Eames. He could hear his own gasping moans -- “oh, don’t stop, don’t stop” -- and then he realized he was in fact hearing his own moans.

All right, fine. He’d get Arthur back later. Turning back fully, Eames let Arthur plunder his mouth and steal his breath, letting himself fuck into Arthur’s fist, panting.

“So gorgeous, Eames, come on,” and there was _nothing_ like the way Arthur said his name.

\-------

After Arthur won, Eames lay replete on his back, relinquishing Arthur’s dick and watching as Arthur knelt over him, scooped up his come as lube, and jerked off onto his belly. Eames watched his hand, and Arthur watched his face. Eames was flushed, disheveled, pupils huge; he was perfect. Arthur leaned in to kiss him and moaned into his mouth as he came; Eames wrapped his arms around him. Arthur settled on him, inhaling the salt scent of his warm skin.

“Shall I answer the door naked and covered in semen, then?” Eames asked after a few moments.

Arthur chuckled into his skin. “You’d enjoy that too much. But I don’t think we should bother showering just yet, we’re going to get a lot messier than this, I’m pretty sure.”

Eames nodded. “Just a robe then, perhaps. The room reeks of sex, you know,” he added, smoothing his palms up and down Arthur’s back in a soothing, slow rhythm.

“Mm, so do you. If we go out to dinner tonight,” Arthur said, thinking, “it’ll probably be obvious we spent all day in bed.”

“We’ll have showered by then, surely.”

“Yeah, but I mean, you’ll be walking carefully, we’ll look vaguely drunk, or like we just came back from a run....”

“So we are going out? Thought we were going to spend all day in bed.”

“All day, yes. You know how late the Spanish eat. Think about it, it would be nice, we shower and get dressed up and go out looking like we’d just fucked each others’ brains out, and we’d be dying to get back here and tear each other’s clothes off again.”

“Taking me out to dinner, then?” Eames teased.

“Why, yes, Eames.” Arthur sat up a bit, and leaned in to kiss him again. God, it was difficult to resist kissing Eames; lying here like this, it seemed to be what he was made for. “I am taking you out to dinner. To celebrate our being back together.”

Eames swallowed, and smiled. “All right, I accept,” he said after a moment, drawing Arthur down for another kiss.

They kept kissing, slow and leisurely gradually becoming slow and dirty, Arthur eventually finding himself hard again and rubbing against Eames’ stomach. Eames gripped his hips and urged him to shift down the bed a bit with a push, and pressed his thighs together around Arthur’s dick. Arthur fucked between Eames’ muscled, firm, lightly haired thighs; knowing this wasn’t meant to be drawn out, he went hard and fast, and came messily, sinking onto Eames for a moment to catch his breath.

The rest was short-lived. He kissed his way down Eames’ slick chest to kiss and lick and nose all around his groin before blowing him, making him quiver and gasp. Eames cursed up a storm when Arthur got his tongue under his foreskin; Arthur took him in completely, nose pressed to his curls, and drew off, again and again; Eames came down his throat with a strangled shout.

Arthur gently and lightly sucked at Eames until he was practically pawing at Arthur to have mercy on his sensitive self. Arthur was enjoying the little yelps and twitches he got from Eames, but eventually drew off and sat on his haunches, grinning, trembling a little. He looked Eames over; his skin was reddened, sweaty, and certain areas had a lot more come on them than before. “You’re filthy,” Arthur remarked, beaming.

“Your doing,” Eames pointed out, sticking out his tongue and grinning back. “We forgot about lunch, you realize. Must keep up our strength.”

Arthur got up to get Eames a wet cloth; after they mopped off the sheets a bit, Eames then called to place the order, and they leaned against the headboard, Arthur in his underwear and Eames in his robe, as they waited for it to arrive.

Arthur shifted down a bit to lean against Eames’ shoulder; he pulled the robe down just a bit to kiss his bare skin, just briefly. “You know,” he said, “it’s not just the sex.”

“What isn’t, love?” Eames had tipped his head back against the headboard, his eyes closed, most likely.

“Why I missed you. It’s not just the sex. Although, the sex we have is incredible--”

“Nothing compares to it,” Eames agreed quietly, sounding fond. “Why else did you miss me, Arthur?”

“I missed you because....” Arthur took a deep breath. “You scare me.”

“You missed me because... I scare you?”

“Yes, shut up.” Arthur nipped at the round curve of Eames’ shoulder. “You make me feel like nobody else can. And that’s... kind of scary.” His mouth felt dry.

“We don’t have to talk about this now, you know,” Eames said, gentle and a little bit smug. “We’ve only just gotten back together. We can take some time.”

“No, I know, it’s fine. Just... understand how much you mean to me. How much you could still mean.” _That I’m in love with you_.

Eames turned to him and cupped his jaw. “Don’t you think it’s the same for me?”

They just looked at each other, and Eames’ eyes were gorgeous and deep and he was so intelligent and perfect and how could Arthur have been so stupid as to break up with him? Arthur was beyond help now, but didn’t really mind.

Naturally, there was a knock on the door then; Arthur never found out how long they’d have just gone on staring at each other.

They were both unbelievably hungry, and Arthur was happy to concentrate for now on eating like a Marine just off PT, although back when he was a Marine, they never had chow this nice.

Once they were both done, he stacked the dishes on the cart, and Eames dragged him bodily back into bed. They were naked again in no time.

They spent the hours before they showered and got ready to go out kissing, touching, and... talking. Eames kissed his dimples and his ears, which for some reason he found amusing; Arthur kissed Eames’ tattoos. He almost absently palmed and groped Eames’ ass as they argued mildly about what constituted the best available submachine gun. Inevitably, more handjobs ensued. They watched Spanish television for a while, nestled against each other. At last, when feeling filthy was too much, they got in the shower.

Eames lathered up Arthur’s hair and washed it, and Arthur did the same for him. They soaped each other up, and it wasn’t even that sexual. It wasn’t a one-night stand wanting to carry things over into the shower (not that Arthur ever had a problem with that).

It was looking after each other.

They dried off and dressed. Arthur left his hair loose, noticing how Eames kept staring at it, but saying it was because he didn’t want to use up Eames’ pomade.

Besides, he’d be getting it plenty messed up tonight, he knew. He foresaw just how the evening would go, and it would be like he’d said earlier. Dinner, all the while thinking of what they’d been doing and what they planned to do. Rushing back to the room, stumbling over each other to get stripped down. Arthur fucking into Eames again, taking his time now, making Eames cry out. Well, they’d keep the door locked, with no employee walking in on them, but other than that Arthur knew how it would go. Maybe Eames would fuck him in return, later. Or tomorrow morning.

He really should check out of his hotel and move his things into Eames’ room.

Ready, before opening the door Arthur paused to give Eames a firm kiss. “Thank you for letting me in this morning, Eames,” he said, quiet, watching Eames’ face. Eames looked serene, thoughtful.

“Don’t mention it, love,” Eames said, taking his hand and kissing his knuckles, just a soft touch of lips. “Thank you for coming to find me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [anatsuno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anatsuno/), Julia, and Liz for all your help!


End file.
